She could never get over the loneliness that set in when visiting her friends overseas, as she listened to them discuss future events which would occur in her absence. How could her hosts and hostesses plan a life without her, when she, attending guests, made every effort to act as if life could not go on without them, as if they were her everything and would be until the end of time—or, at least, until the end of the visit?

It is never a bad thing to go to somebody’s house expecting a swell dinner party only to have the hostess and her husband descend into a shouting match whereby one or the other or both end up locked in the bathroom. It instils in the guests a strange sense of normality, a feeling that their own arguments perhaps aren’t so bad after all. The guests depart the party deeply satisfied though for a completely different reason than the hosts intended.

But this is only temporary.

As the guests move further and further from the event they will find themselves waking in the night and wondering if they would have the audacity to make such a scene; wondering how it would feel, just once, to let fly of the situation, to stomp their foot and slam a door in public. Aloud, they denounce it— ‘what a drama’ and ‘how embarrasing’ —and dismiss it from conversation, but privately this curiosity clings to their minds like cobwebs to the unused corners of the room.

It is not pleasant to look back at holiday snaps you thought were excellent only to notice that next to you stands a sunburned old man peeling dried skin from his forearm, a woman scratching an infected mosquito bite, or a young boy picking his nose.

It is enraging, until you consider all the cities you’ve visited and all the times you’ve accidentally stood in somebody else’s photos, fixing your hair or scowling at your spouse.

This thought takes hold of you, and thereafter you find yourself looking upon the strangers hovering in your backgrounds—even the young boy picking his nose—almost fondly, as you remind yourself: I am a tourist, too.

She finds couches offensive. The notion that she is to park her ass on a piece of furniture, that it will support her and comfort her throughout the day, is ludicrous.

Her husband tells her to just sit, she is blocking the television.

She erupts, he has no idea what it is like, he cannot imagine the stress she endures at home with the couch, let alone when visiting other people’s houses where they expect to her to sit on their couches like it is not extraordinary.

He yells that perhaps she should not visit other people’s houses, that she should sit at home and bake and sew, like a good wife.

She screams that they are not living in bloody caveman times.

He says, no they are not living in bloody caveman times, because if they were living in bloody caveman times there would be no couches.

It may have strange remnants from the larger setting that it once belonged to—perhaps an old compact—still hanging from it.

It may be one of those dreaded dual travel sets that contain one normal mirror, and one mirror that magnifies to magnificent proportions.

It may even be cracked.

Every woman has a mirror like this. A secret mirror, used each night to monitor the size of pores and stray facial hairs, to check the back of heads before events or the peculiar mole in the peculiar place.

To clean it is to admit its existence, and so it is usually caked with grime.

It is the most comprehensive witness in the judgement of women, which is why it is concealed in the backs of cupboards, shoved beneath makeup in vanities, routinely slammed between drawers and rarely shared between family or friends.

This is also why it disappears so quickly when a woman dies, lest another person force secrets from its silvery depths…

He could only wear pants from his homeland; only Dutch pants moulded to his slim, tall frame. But he lived in Australia, so when his parents and sister visited they always brought at least three pairs with them. When he visited Holland, he purchased pants while there, too.

His sister wondered, if they stopped bringing pants would he visit Holland more often? So the next time his family flew over, they brought no pants.

But this only made him angry – how could they come all the way to Australia from Holland without bringing pants?

Offended by the anger, his family stopped visiting Australia, that way they had an excuse for the not-bringing of pants, and he had even more reason to visit them there.

Enraged by the lack of pants and the lack of visits to Australia, he stopped visiting Holland – stopped visiting places altogether – and instead sat at home, alone and pantless; while his family remained in Holland, not alone, wearing pants and with so many more styles to choose from.

Like this:

She likes to anticipate her inclinations and buy things too trendy even for herself.

She inherited this from her mother, who always bestowed birthday presents that preceded her phases. For example, one year she was given dragonfly earrings which weren’t to her tastes at all, but then, six months later, dragonflies had become her thing, and the earrings were perfect.

This is why she has married a blonde man who snowboards, though she has a penchant for brunette businessmen.

When the wife came downstairs the first morning, the sister-in-law was sitting at the kitchen table in her underwear. The wife was not happy about this and tried not to look, which is never easy, as anyone knows who has passed a bloody road accident.

When the wife came downstairs the second morning, her mother-in-law was in the kitchen in her night shirt which ended at the hips. Again, the wife tried not to look, which is never easy, as anyone knows who has seen a couple canoodling on the beach.

When the wife came downstairs the third morning, her father-in-law was sitting at the kitchen table, chewing toast, clad only in white underpants. Once again she tried not to look, which is never easy, as anyone knows who has witnessed a child throw a tantrum in a grocery store.

When the wife came downstairs the fourth morning, she did so in black silk panties, a matching bra and suspender belt complete with stockings. The family tried not to look, which is never easy, as anyone knows who has passed a prostitute on a street corner at lunchtime.

When the wife came downstairs the fifth morning, the kitchen was empty and the house was quiet. Her in-laws had departed the day before, dismayed by their son’s taste in women.